


The Double Shot

by Rainne



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Art, Artist Steve Rogers, Barista Bucky Barnes, Coffee, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Humor, M/M, Magic, Soft Stucky, a large garden, a small dragon - Freeform, an illegal spell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-01 22:14:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16773961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainne/pseuds/Rainne
Summary: An artist comes into a coffee shop and asks if he can display some of his art there. Other things happen.





	1. Chapter 1

At exactly five a.m., the lights in the Double Shot turned on and the sign on the door flipped from CLOSED to OPEN. Precisely fifteen minutes later, the bell over the door jingled and a man with dark brown skin and close-cropped hair stepped inside. He was wearing jeans and an emerald-green button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he grinned wide when the coffee shop’s owner stuck his head out of the back room. There was a gap between his two front teeth set off by the attractive goatee around his mouth. “Morning, Bucky.”   
  
“You’re late, Sam,” Bucky replied. “As always.” He grinned from behind the counter, all curly brown hair and long, loose limbs, and continued prepping the espresso machine.   
  
“You know, I don’t actually work for you,” Sam replied, wandering over to the fireplace to pet Farley the shop dragon before coming to lean against the counter. “I could do everything I need to do from home.”   
  
“Yeah, but you’d miss my face,” Bucky replied, grinning and winking one blue eye.   
  
“I am pretty sure I would not miss your ugly mug,” Sam laughed, and they both knew he was lying. “So what’s on special today?”   
  
“Tears of our enemies,” Bucky said, turning to the chalkboard to write exactly that. “Also, the cheesecake mocha.”   
  
“That’s white chocolate and cherry?” Sam asked. When Bucky nodded, Sam said, “I’m in. Shot of accuracy, if you don’t mind; I got two sets of taxes to do today plus looking through the books here.”   
  
“You got it.” Bucky made the coffee with the ease of long practice, adding in the various flavors and a single shot of a flavorless substance from the wall behind the counter where he kept the coffee add-ons.   
  
The add-ons were what gave the Double Shot its name and made it so popular among the locals in Brooklyn, where you couldn’t swing a cat without hitting a local kitschy coffee shop. Bucky made them himself from a set of recipes passed down from his grandfather, and they added a particular oomph to the coffee. Customers could get shots of all sorts of things: accuracy, good luck, confidence, courage, and so on. There were also sugared add-ons for the pastries; included in those were less useful and more fun add-ons: things like tentacles and fur.    
  
“You want any pastry?” Bucky asked as he put Sam’s coffee on the counter. “Danish with a sprinkle of focus?”   
  
“Yeah, that’d be great,” Sam replied, picking up the cup and taking a sip. “Got those sausage ones?”   
  
“Sure do,” Bucky said, pulling one out of the case and popping it into the little oven. “Got macaroons, too; I know you love Darcy’s macaroons.”   
  
“Save me a couple hazelnut for later,” Sam requested, watching as Bucky fished the danish out of the oven and put it on a plate, then sprinkled a sugar-like substance on it.   
  
“Here you go,” Bucky said, handing the plate over. “Macaroons for later, and the bean company called. They said their delivery truck finally came out of the void-trap and it should be here today.”   
  
“Fuckin’ necromancers,” Sam grumbled.   
  
Bucky laughed. “Fuckin’ necromancers,” he agreed.    
  
Sam raised his cup to Bucky. “I’ll be in the office if you need me.”   
  
Bucky saluted, and then turned as the door opened, admitting the actual first customer of the day. “Hey, welcome to the Double Shot. What can I get you?”   
  
Peter came in at six for the morning rush and left again at ten-thirty so he could make it to his twelve o’clock class. During that time, only two Entitled Park Slope Soccer Moms™ demanded to see the manager, and Farley only snapped at one idiot (in the dragon’s defense, the idiot in question was trying to feed him a piece of biscotti right in front of a sign that said  _ please do not feed the dragon _ ), so it was a pretty good morning, all told.   
  
Bucky stepped into the kitchen after Peter left to have a discussion with the wood-fired oven about what to serve for lunch; he asked for some fairly popular sausage pastries and the oven provided a wide variety of grilled cheese sandwiches instead. With a sigh, Bucky plattered the sandwiches, gave the oven a nasty look and a log of apple wood, and took the sandwiches out to put them in the glass display case. Then he snagged a ham-and-cheese for himself before it could cool.   
  
He was just popping the last bite of sandwich into his mouth when the door opened and a short, slender blond man walked into the shop. He had a map case over his shoulder and a determined expression. He walked up to the counter and said, in the politest tone Bucky had ever heard, “Hello. May I speak to the management, please?”   
  
Bucky blinked. Couldn’t be a coffee problem; this guy had almost certainly never been in the shop before. Bucky would have remembered. “I’m the owner,” he replied. “Bucky Barnes,” he added, offering a hand to shake.   
  
The guy smiled, taking his hand and shaking firmly. “Hi. My name’s Steve Rogers. I’m an artist. And I was hoping I could get you to display some of my works so I can try to sell them. With the understanding that you’d get a commission, of course.”   
  
“Oh, sure, if they’re good,” Bucky answered. “We do that all the time. Got an empty wall in the other room right now.” He jerked a thumb toward the wide archway that led into a room full of comfy seating and small tables. “Good spot, too; it’s right around the fireplace, so anybody interested in the shop dragon will see them.” He gestured to Steve’s map case. “I assume you brought samples.”   
  
“I did.” Steve slung the case off his shoulder and unrolled it, and Bucky took hold of the corner, tugging it over before Steve even had a chance to unzip the thing. “Hey, that’s really good,” he said of the watercolor Brooklyn Bridge that rested in front of the case’s clear window.    
  
“Thanks,” Steve replied. He unzipped the case and pulled out several more sheets: some more watercolors, a few pencil sketches, and one in pastel crayon. Most of them were scenes around Brooklyn, but a couple of them were people.    
  
Bucky pointed at the pastel, a picture of a chubby, smiling red-haired woman. “Who’s this?”   
  
“My mom,” Steve replied. “She’s one of my best models.”   
  
Bucky laughed. “Moms are great for that kind of thing. I can’t draw for anything, but my mom’s the one who taught me how to cook. Very patient with my early efforts, despite what they must have tasted like.”   
  
Steve nodded toward the food case. “You cook all the stuff here yourself?”   
  
“Oh, hell no,” Bucky replied, laughing. “The cakes and cookies – all the sweet stuff – comes from Brooklyn Bake, down the block, and the sandwiches – well, I have a sapient oven with  _ ideas  _ about what should be served on certain days. I asked for savory kolaches and you see what I got.”   
  
Steve grinned widely, leaning to look at the variety of sandwiches inside the case. “They still look good.”   
  
“Yeah, just not what I wanted. Hey, you want anything?” Bucky asked suddenly. “On the house, on account of we got a business deal going.” He said the last in a fake gangster accent, and Steve laughed.    
  
“No, thanks, I ate before I came this way.” Steve paused. “I wouldn’t say no to an iced mocha, though; it’s hot as anything out there.”   
  
“You got it.” Bucky made two, passing one across the counter to Steve and keeping the other for himself. Then he led Steve into the other room, weaving between chairs and couches and up to the fireplace. “Here’s what we got,” he said, gesturing at the wide wall.    
  
“You have open mic nights?” Steve asked, nodding at the small stage in one corner.   
  
Bucky nodded. “For my sins. There’s a half-deaf old Scotsman who always brings his bagpipes and one pixie that comes in without fail every week and reads some of the darkest poetry I’ve ever heard. I keep waiting to hear that he’s shot up a mall or something.” He shook his head. “And this is Farley, by the way. He pets fine, just don’t try to feed him anything.”   
  
“Hence the sign,” Steve intuited, reaching down to pet the dragon’s head.   
  
Bucky nodded. “Some asshole tried to feed him biscotti this morning and nearly lost his hand for it.”   
  
Farley purred as Steve rubbed his head, and Steve grinned. “Our neighbor had a little Rockaway Chameleon when I was a kid. Used to sit on her shoulder and turn whatever color her shirt was that day. I loved it when she went out of town because she would always let me dragon-sit.”   
  
“Those are super cute,” Bucky agreed. “Farley adopted us when I was a baby; just wandered in off the street one day in October and plunked himself down on the hearth and never left. Once I was walking, Mom never had to worry about me down here because Farley would babysit. Me and my little sister, both.” He reached down and scratched the dragon’s ribs. “You’re a good fella, ain’t you, Farley?”   
  
Farley yawped and Bucky laughed, pulling a dragon treat out of his apron pocket and giving it to the little creature before straightening up again. “So,” he said to Steve, “you think you can fill up this wall?”   
  
“That won’t be a problem,” Steve replied, laughing. “I’ve got tons of stuff, framed and unframed. The unframed stuff is mostly oils on canvases, though, so they’ll look all right among the framed stuff.”   
  
Bucky nodded, picturing it in his mind. “Yeah, that’ll look great,” he said. “When you gonna bring your stuff?”   
  
“Is this afternoon okay?” Steve asked. “I’d like to get it up as soon as possible.”   
  
“Of course.” Bucky nodded. “You’ll need to bring your own hangers and stuff, though. I’ve got a hammer but I’m out of nails and Sam – that’s my accountant-slash-best-pal, I’ll introduce you – he hasn’t had a chance to get to the hardware store.”   
  
Steve turned and looked out the window at the hardware store right across the street, then turned back to Bucky with a raised eyebrow. Bucky shrugged. “I’m bound,” he admitted. “I can’t leave the block.”   
  
Steve gaped. “I thought that kind of thing was just a legend.”   
  
"It used to be more common than it is now," Bucky admitted. "I actually inherited this one. It's been in the family for years. My great-grandpa Buchanan, who I'm named for, started the shop in 1947, after he came home from the war. He'd seen places in Italy, you know, coffee shops and stuff, and that's where he got the idea from."   
  
He picked up both their empty glasses and headed back to the counter in the other room to wash them. Steve followed as Bucky continued, "The binding was accidental, or so I'm told. Personally, I have my doubts; I knew Great-Granny a little bit before she died and she was a mean old hag. It woulda been just her style. Anyway, my grandpa's older brother took off for California, and my grandpa woke up a few mornings later 'accidentally' bound to the building.” He added air quotes for emphasis. “It's passed down now – whoever owns the coffee shop is bound to it. Part of why it's still in the family, because who wants to own a coffee shop they can't ever leave?"   
  
He smiled like it was a joke, but he was actually a little bitter about the fact that he hadn't been farther than the edge of the block in ten years. _ Thank God for Amazon and restaurants that deliver, _ he thought, not for the first time.   
  
Their conversation was interrupted by a group of kids from the nearby high school, regulars who came in almost every weekday to study. He raised an eyebrow at them, ostentatiously checking his watch. “The hell are you kids doing here at eleven thirty?”   
  
“Half-day,” one of the girls replied, leaning over the glass case. “Does this grilled cheese have vegetables on it?”   
  
“Yeah,” Bucky said, taking a look. “Looks like zucchini, bell peppers and… that could be eggplant, I’m not sure.”   
  
One of the boys laughed. “Oven screwing you over again?”   
  
Bucky made a face. “I wanted savory pastries!”   
  
The kids all laughed at that and ordered their sandwiches and coffees, then settled in at tables in the other room to work on their homework. Bucky returned to Steve. “So anyway, that’s why I can’t go to the hardware store for myself.”   
  
“Can you go anywhere?” Steve asked. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”   
  
“Nah, it’s cool. I can go anywhere on the block. So, you know, all the shops on this side, around to the bodega and the butcher, past all the brownstones on the other side, and across in front of the offices on the back.” Bucky pointed as he explained. “Also the public park hiding in the middle. I actually got lucky the last time I was sick; there’s several doctors in one of the buildings in the back and I was able to get an appointment with one.”   
  
“That’s really lucky,” Steve agreed. “So you have almost everything you need right here on the block… but you can’t leave the block. There’s luck and then there’s  _ what the hell, universe? _ ”   
  
Bucky laughed. “That’s exactly how I feel about it.”   
  
Steve glanced at the clock on the wall. “Well,” he said, “I’d better go get my stuff together if I’m going to get back here and hang it up.” He gives Bucky a smile. “I’d ask if you’ll be here when I get back, but I suppose I already know the answer to that question.”   
  
“Ouch,” Bucky replied, grasping at his chest dramatically.   
  
Steve’s smile turned into a grin, and he offered his hand to shake. “I’ll be back soon,” he said.   
  
Bucky shook his hand, grinning back. “I look forward to it.”   
  
Steve left, the bell over the door jingling in his wake, and Bucky grabbed Sam’s macaroons, sticking his head back into the office. “Got an artist for the fireplace wall,” he said, offering the plate. “You gotta meet him when he comes back; he’s a hundred pounds of adorable in a ninety-pound sack.”   
  
Sam grinned. “Call me out when he gets here,” he said. “I could use a break anyway.”   
  
“Will do,” Bucky replied, then ducked back out to the front as the door bell announced a customer.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve burst into the apartment in a whirl, greeting his mother as he passed, and dived into his art room. Curious, Sarah Rogers followed, leaning against the doorway and watching as Steve began digging through his completed paintings. “I assume the coffee shop said yes,” she commented, watching as he started pulling out framed pieces and stacking them on the light table.   
  
“Sure did,” Steve replied, pausing to bounce over and hug her tight. “It’s a great spot, too, right around the fireplace, the whole wall. I’m gonna take a sculpture, too, and see if he’ll let me put it on the mantel.”   
  
“He?”   
  
“Bucky Barnes,” Steve replied. “He owns the place.” He stopped, his eyes going dreamy. “He’s really handsome.”   
  
Sarah laughed. “Tell me more,” she said, coming into the room to perch on his chair.    
  
“He’s got brown hair, all curly on the top,” Steve said, waving his hand at the top of his head in illustration. “And these eyes, they’re so blue, it’s like he’s looking right through you.” He pauses, then shakes his head. “He’s bound to the building, though; he can walk around the block, but he can’t cross the street.”   
  
Sarah’s mouth dropped open. “I thought that kind of thing was just a story!”   
  
“Me, too!” Steve exclaimed. “But he said it was his grandfather that got bound, but it’s inherited. So he’s stuck with it, poor guy.”   
  
Sarah smiled. “You’re smitten.”   
  
“A little bit,” Steve admitted. “But it doesn’t matter; I’m pretty sure he’s seeing someone. He mentioned someone named Sam who hasn’t been able to get to the hardware store for nails, and I’m pretty sure Sam is his partner.”   
  
“Well, maybe not,” Sarah replied. “Sam could just be an employee.”   
  
“If so, then why not send her – him? them? don’t know – during a shift?”   
  
“You make a good point,” Sarah conceded. “Still, there could be any number of explanations. A friend, a relative, an ex he’s still on friendly terms with. Even a regular customer who’s willing to do favors. Could be anything. Don’t give up until you see a wedding ring.” She paused. “Or get a no. Was he wearing a wedding ring?”   
  
Steve paused, closing his eyes to remember better, and then shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, he wasn’t.” He smiled. “And he didn’t say no, yet, either.”   
  
“Then there’s always hope,” Sarah said decisively. She stood and reached over to ruffle Steve’s hair. “Go take your paintings. I’m going to get a nap before my peds shift.”   
  
Steve leaned over and dropped a kiss on his mom’s plump cheek. “Snuggle a baby for me,” he said, then went back to work. Smiling, Sarah watched him for a long moment before shaking her head and going off to bed.   
  
Steve spent the next hour or so sifting through his works, trying to find a set that went together well as a display, and ended up choosing a number of works he’d done of scenes around Brooklyn: the bridge, some storefronts, even the view from his father’s plot at Greenwood Cemetery. He sorted these carefully into a little wire cart, then chose a medium-sized sculpture of a dragon in flight, wrapped it carefully in bubble wrap, and tucked it into a makeshift sling over his shoulder. Then out the door he went, cart trundling after him.   
  
There were two subway stops between Steve and the Double Shot, but he elected to walk the distance with his arm curled around the dragon statue rather than risk its wide wings getting bumped by someone in a packed car. He was sweating profusely by the time he made it back to the shop, and Bucky’s face behind the counter went from welcoming to concerned in zero-point-five seconds.    
  
“Jesus, Steve, you’re red as a fire hydrant,” Bucky said, pouring him a glass of ice water and coming around the counter to press it into Steve’s hand. “Drink this. I’ll put your cart out of the way. What’s th- oh, that’s gorgeous.” Bucky was distracted from fussing when Steve unwound the statue from its sling. He took it gently in both hands, peeling away the bubble wrap. “You made this? Drink your water.”   
  
“Yeah, I made it,” Steve said, drinking gratefully. “I thought I’d ask if you’d let me put it on the mantel.”   
  
“Let you?” Bucky repeated. “Are you kidding? How much do you want for this? I want it for me.”   
  
Steve blinked, then grinned and named a figure. Bucky raised an eyebrow and named a figure fifty dollars lower. They went back and forth a few times before meeting in the middle. Bucky took Steve’s last offer, nodding once. “Done,” he said firmly, going to the mantel and setting the dragon statue there proudly. “That’s fantastic.” He eyeballed Steve then. “You feeling better?”   
  
“Yeah, thanks,” Steve replied, draining the water and crunching a piece of ice. “I didn’t want to risk the dragon getting broken on the train so I walked.” He paused and rubbed the cold glass against his forehead.   
  
“That makes sense, but maybe wait until after dark next time. At least it’s a little cooler then.” Bucky shook his head, then stepped back behind the counter. “Hey, Sam, I made an acquisition for the shop. Come look.”   
  
“Oh, hell,” a masculine voice drifted from the back room. “What ridiculous thing have you bought now?”   
  
“It’s not ridiculous!” Bucky exclaimed.   
  
A tall, attractive Black man came out from the back room. “Is this the soda fountain again? I told you, you cannot have a soda fountain.” He looked over at Steve. “He cannot have a soda fountain.”   
  
“Well, of course not,” Steve replied reasonably. “Where would you put one in here?”   
  
The Black man pointed a finger at Steve. “I like you. You have sense. So what did you con him into buying?”   
  
“A new building,” Steve replied before Bucky could intervene, his face perfectly straight. “The one across the street, actually, where the hardware store is now. He wants a soda fountain, but there’s no room in this building.”   
  
A long, weighty silence fell over the room. Bucky finally cracked first, slumping back against the sink and howling with laughter. He reached out to clap his friend on the shoulder. “Oh God, Sam, your face!” he managed. His laughter was so infectious that Steve found himself joining in and, after another beat, so did Sam.    
  
Once they’d mostly calmed, Steve stepped forward and offered his hand. “Steve Rogers,” he said. “I’m an artist. Bucky says – ”   
  
“Oh, yeah, the fireplace wall,” Sam said, shaking Steve’s hand firmly. “Good to meet you, man. Can’t wait to see your stuff up.” He smiled. “Bucky didn’t tell me you were such a troll.”   
  
“In fairness,” Steve explained, “Bucky didn’t know yet.”   
  
“Well, I do now. Hey, Sam, come look, he brought a sculpture.” Bucky practically dragged Sam over to see the clay dragon on the mantel. “I bought it. Isn’t it gorgeous?”   
  
Sam carefully picked up the sculpture and carried it over to the window where there was better light. “This is beautiful,” he said softly. “And...” He rubbed it with his thumb. “It’s not painted. How the hell did you get that kind of iridescent color into the clay itself?”   
  
“It’s my Talent,” Steve replied. “My mother’s family comes from a long line of Irish Bards, and I can sing stuff into my art. Like the colors in the clay. I don’t use it much, because I’m more of a painter and I prefer to let my work speak for itself. The sculpting is more of a hobby, so I don’t mind singing stuff into it to make it better.”   
  
To Steve, Sam said, “That’s pretty amazing, dude.” Then he nodded at Bucky as he went to replace the statue. “Your purchase is approved.”   
  
“Oh, gee, thanks, Mom,” Bucky replied, grinning. He went back into the back room Sam had come out from, returning with a checkbook. He wrote out the check for the agreed-upon amount and handed it over to Steve, who tucked it away in his wallet with a nod of thanks. “Still don’t have any nails, Sam,” he said, and Sam chortled. “But you can get started whenever you want,” Bucky finished. “I do have a stepladder you can use, as long as you promise not to fall off it. Calling 9-1-1 is not on my schedule for today.”   
  
Steve nodded. “I actually need to run over and get some nails, so I’ll be back in just a minute.” He stepped out of the shop and headed across the street. For four dollars, he bought a one-pound box of nails, then trotted back to the shop. Bucky had already set out the stepladder for Steve, so Steve spent the next couple of hours cheerfully working on the art arrangement before finally getting the pieces hung, a label affixed neatly beside each piece giving his name, the title of the piece, and its price. He stepped back to examine the effect and nodded once, satisfied.   
  
Steve turned to find Bucky standing there, leaning against the archway and grinning. “Looks good,” he said.    
  
“Thanks,” Steve replied. “Hopefully they’ll sell.” He closed the little box of nails and offered it to Bucky. “Since you’re out and all.”   
  
Laughing, Bucky took the box. “Thanks; I’ll make sure to make fun of Sam for it.”   
  
“Oh, is he – he’s not here?”   
  
Bucky shook his head. “Went home while you were gone. Wife and kid, you know. Gotta be home for dinner.”   
  
Steve’s eyes widened. “Oh, you’re not – ?” He felt himself turn bright red, the heat moving from his neck up to the top of his head at a fairly rapid pace.   
  
“What, together? Nah, Sam’s mostly straight. And I’m very single.” Bucky gave Steve a slow look up and down. “Was that something you were worried about?”   
  
Steve straightened, feeling his cheeks go warm, but smiling just a little anyway. “If I said yes?”   
  
“Well,” Bucky said slowly, “I might tell you there’s nothin’ to worry about. And, uh.” He paused, running his fingers through his brown curls. “I might see if maybe you didn’t have plans for dinner.”   
  
“As it happens,” Steve replied, his smile getting wider, “I do not have plans for dinner.”   
  
“Well,” Bucky said again, “then maybe you’d like to have dinner with me. I’m not much of a cook and the oven’s down for the night but I can order a mean take-out.”   
  
“That sounds fantastic,” Steve replied. “Pepper beef is frankly one of my favorite things.”   
  
“Oh, good, then I won’t have to fight you for the pineapple chicken,” Bucky said, laughing softly. “Should I order extra egg rolls?”   
  
“Bucky,” Steve said, folding up his wire cart and finding an out-of-the-way spot to hide it in, “I order extra egg rolls when I’m by myself.”   
  
Bucky chortled, pulling out his cell phone. “I can see that this is definitely the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”   
  
Sometime later, when they were sitting on the floor in front of Bucky’s couch with Dog Cops playing quietly on the television for comic relief, Bucky said, “You know, for a little guy, you sure can pack away some egg rolls.”   
  
“I told you,” Steve said around his final mouthful.   
  
“I thought maybe you were joking.”   
  
Steve snorted. “I never joke about egg rolls.”   
  
There was a long pause before Bucky said, “Hey Steve, do you know how to make an egg roll?”   
  
Before he thought better of it, Steve replied, “Not really. Do you?”   
  
“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Just give it a little push.”   
  
There was another long pause before Steve said, “I hate you.”   
  
Bucky laughed. “No you don’t.”   
  
“No,” Steve agreed, grinning. “I don’t.”


	3. Chapter 3

Encouraged by his dinner with Bucky and rather hopeful about getting another one, Steve grabbed his traveling-artist pack the next morning and trotted down to the Double Shot. He ordered an iced mocha from the skinny kid behind the counter, and asked after Bucky.    
  
“Oh, he went out to the bakery,” the kid replied. “He’ll be back before too long, though.”   
  
Steve nodded, found a spot in the main room with a good view of both the interior of the shop and the street outside the huge window, and dug into his pack, pulling out his pencil roll and his newest drawing pad. He looked around for a little bit, trying to choose a subject, before he decided on Farley, who was asleep on the hearth. Now set, he smiled and went to work.   
  
About halfway through his sketch, someone sat down beside Steve, and when he’d finished shading the section of fireplace that he was on, he looked up to find Bucky sitting there with a glass of juice in his hand and a grin on his face. “I see my dragon has agreed to model for you.”   
  
Steve grinned back. “Not so much  _ agreed _ ,” he admitted. “More  _ was holding still when I got started. _ ”   
  
Bucky laughed at that. “Holding still is a fine quality in a model,” he admitted. Then, leaning forward, he added, “Maybe someday I could model for you.”   
  
“Oh, I’d love that,” Steve blurted. “Your cheekbones need to be immortalized.”   
  
Bucky’s face went a dusty rose color. “Really?” he asked, reaching up with his free hand to prod at the bones in question.    
  
“Absolutely,” Steve’s artist soul replied before his sensible brain could shut it up. “You have a fantastic bone structure and your mouth looks like it ought to be classified as a lethal weapon.”   
  
There was a long moment of silence between them as they both digested what he’d just said. Just before Steve could will himself to melt into the floor, Bucky said, “I think I’d really like to kiss you right now.”   
  
“I think I’d really like that, too,” Steve agreed, and he leaned in to meet Bucky halfway.   
  
It was chaste in deference to their public location, but warm and sweet all the same, and when they broke apart, they were both breathing a little unsteadily. There was a silence between them for a few moments before Bucky said, “Come to dinner tonight.”   
  
“Okay,” Steve replied without even thinking about it.   
  
“Okay,” Bucky repeated, and then he grinned. “Okay.”   
  
Steve went next door just before Bucky finished his shift and picked up barbecue for dinner; he brought it back and followed Bucky upstairs, where tender ribs and bites of potato salad were interspersed between smoky-flavored kisses and shy smiles. Still, Steve went home around ten o’clock; it was far too soon to think about spending the night when they’d only met the previous day.   
  
Bucky was a busy man; owning and running a popular coffee shop in Brooklyn was not easy work. Steve was busy, too, as he was punctuating his days of painting and drawing with trips all over the borough (and sometimes even into Manhattan) looking for galleries and other places where he could display and attempt to sell his work. Even so, they still made time to talk – even if it was only through shared text messages – every day. Steve also came by the shop at least twice a week just to say hello, and twice made special trips to replace pieces that had sold. They also made sure to have dinner together every Friday at a minimum. Before either of them knew it, it had been three months since they’d met.   
  
Steve didn’t realize it had been that long until he sat down across the table from his best friend Natasha at their favorite shawarma joint and she said, “So when am I going to get to meet your boyfriend?”   
  
Steve scoffed at her. “He’s not my boyfriend,” he protested. “I mean, we’ve only known each other for...” He paused to count.   
  
“Yeah,” Natasha said at the wide-eyed look that crossed Steve’s face. “It’s been three months of Bucky this and Bucky that and I want to know when I get to meet this guy. Or am I gonna have to go down to that shop by myself and scope him out?”   
  
“No, no, God, don’t do that.” Steve laughed. “We’ll go after dinner. I’ll buy you a coffee and introduce you.”   
  
“Sounds good,” Natasha said, digging into her food.    
  
After they finished eating, Steve was true to his word and hopped on a train with Natasha, taking her across Brooklyn to the Double Shot. The bell rang cheerfully over Steve’s head as he pushed the door open, and Bucky, who was behind the counter, looked up and gave Steve a brilliant grin. “Hey, you,” he said.   
  
“Hey, you,” Steve replied, grinning back. “Buck, this is my best friend Natasha; she got tired of hearing me talk about you and wanted to meet you. Natasha, this is Bucky Barnes.”   
  
“Hey, come on in,” Bucky said, offering his hand over the counter. “Any friend of Steve’s and all. You want anything?”   
  
“Iced mocha for me,” Steve said, dropping a twenty in the tip jar because Bucky never let him pay any more.    
  
“Same for me,” Natasha agreed. “But what is – what does a shot of luck taste like?”   
  
“Nothin’,” Bucky explained. “The add-on shots are flavorless. It’s all about the effect. Shot of luck makes you lucky for the next several hours. Not, like, win-the-Powerball lucky, but maybe find-a-twenty-on-the-ground lucky.” He hovered her glass under the squirt bottle. “You want?”   
  
Natasha shrugged. “Sure,” she agreed. “Why not?”   
  
Bucky nodded once and squirted a shot of the clear liquid into her cup, then grabbed a swizzle stick and stirred it up carefully before handing it over. “Here you go. Take a seat anywhere; Darcy can mind the counter and I’ll come hang out for a bit.” He made a drink for himself before taking his apron off, hanging it on a hook behind the counter, and then joining them at the table they’d chosen. He dropped a kiss on Steve’s temple as he sat down, then smiled at Natasha. “So, I’m Bucky, and I own this here house of beverages and ill-repute.”   
  
Natasha laughed. “Nice to meet you. “I’m Natasha.”    
  
“Steve’s mentioned you,” Bucky said. “How’d you meet?”   
  
“In grade school,” Natasha told him. “He was getting his ass beat by some older kids and I had to swoop in to save him. They still broke his glasses and stole his lunchbox before I got there.”   
  
“Got it back, though,” Steve said, grinning fiercely.   
  
“Eventually,” Natasha agreed. “So anyway, we’ve been best friends ever since. Largely because he’s like a limpet and I can’t quite shake him.”   
  
Bucky laughed. “He’s hard to get rid of,” he admitted, then pulled Steve into a one-armed hug when he squawked in protest. “But I kinda like him that way.”   
  
They talked for awhile longer before Natasha looked at her watch. “I’d better head home; I have to be in to work early tomorrow to meet with a student.”   
  
“Oh, what do you teach?” Bucky asked.   
  
“Freshman composition and sophomore literature at North Brooklyn College,” Natasha replied. “It’s a living.”   
  
“Don’t lie, you love it,” Steve accused, grinning.   
  
“I really do,” Natasha admitted. “Just not when a student wants to meet at eight a.m. on my off day.” She sighed, standing up. “Bucky, it was a real pleasure to meet you. Steve, I’ll talk to you later.” She ruffled his hair, eliciting another squawk of protest, before she headed out into the evening.   
  
Bucky smiled at Steve. “Plans for the evening?”   
  
“Not really,” Steve replied. “You?”   
  
“Oh yeah, big night out at that new club across town.” Bucky made a face.   
  
“Well, I don’t know,” Steve replied, smirking. “You might have wanted your other boyfriend to come over.”   
  
Bucky raised an eyebrow at him. “No… but I think you should hang out. I assume you ate with Natasha?”   
  
“Yeah, we had shawarma.” Steve nodded. “Want me to go get something for you?”   
  
“Shawarma sounds delicious, actually, but I’ll call for it to be delivered. Just hang out; I’m almost done for the evening.”   
  
“Sure,” Steve replied, settling in and pulling out his sketchbook.   
  
About an hour later, Bucky sat down beside Steve again, waiting patiently until Steve raised his head before giving him a smile. “Hey,” he said. “Ready to head up?”   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
“Is it hot outside?” Bucky asked as they passed behind the counter.   
  
Steve shrugged. “It was cooling off when Nat and I came in,” he said. “Probably not bad outside right now if there’s any breeze.”   
  
“Let’s go on up to the roof garden, then,” Bucky said. “I’ll show you the coolest thing you’ve ever seen.”   
  
The roof was, indeed, the coolest thing Steve had ever seen. “Holy shit, this isn’t a garden, it’s a park!” He turned around in a slow circle. “How big is this?”   
  
“Covers the whole block, if you’re walking it,” Bucky replied, grinning at Steve’s reaction. “But if you’re measuring, it’s just the top of the building. My great-aunt is an expert in four-d architecture; she’s the one who expanded it out. Dad and Grandpa did most of the decorative stuff, but the food gardens back in the back, that’s Grandma and me. We used to come up here all the time when I was a kid and work the gardens. She’s the one who taught me how to keep bees.”   
  
“You have bees?” Steve exclaimed.   
  
“Sure do. They keep the garden pollinated and make some of the best honey you ever had.” Bucky led Steve around the garden, showing parts of it off proudly, and then guided him to a gazebo under a couple of ornamental cherry trees. “So,” he said, settling down on the wicker loveseat. “Other boyfriend?”   
  
Steve shrugged, sitting down on the chair that faced the loveseat. “Aren’t you?” he asked frankly. “I wouldn’t have thought of it either, but Nat pointed it out to me at dinner. We’ve been dating for three months. I mean, if you don’t want to...” He trailed off and shrugged.   
  
“Let’s just be clear what it is I’m wanting to,” Bucky said, smiling. “I assume exclusivity.”   
  
“Yeah. You know. Date nights, hanging out in your rooftop park, drawing your cheekbones and your lips. Kissing, stuff like that.” Steve went warm in the face.   
  
Bucky laughed. “Stuff like that. Sex?”   
  
“Sure, if you want.” Steve’s face was flaming now, and Bucky was laughing at him for sure. Instead of getting frosty about it, though, Steve gave in and leaned over to kiss Bucky warmly. “So, yes?”   
  
“Yeah, Steve,” Bucky said, laughing. “I’ll be your boyfriend. You wanna wear my letterman jacket?”   
  
“You don’t have a letterman jacket,” Steve replied, snickering. “You told me so yourself.”   
  
“Ahh, played myself.” Bucky snapped his fingers in faux disappointment. “Oh, well. You can still wear my class ring, if you want.”   
  
“I’ll pass.” Steve kissed him again. “I’ll tell you what I will wear, though.”   
  
“Oh? What’s that?”   
  
Steve grinned wickedly. “Your sweatpants, tomorrow morning while you make me breakfast.”   
  
Bucky blinked, and then a matching smile crept onto his own face. “Steve, I gotta say, I have a feeling that’s gonna be a good look on you.”   
  
“Well,” Steve said, standing up and reaching out a hand for Bucky’s, “the sooner we start, the sooner we’ll get to that point.”   
  
“It’s gonna have to wait until I get my shawarma, though,” Bucky warned him. “I won’t be any good to you if I faint from hunger halfway through.”   
  
Steve burst out laughing. “Well then, I guess we’d better get you fed; I’ve got a lot of plans for you tonight and none of them involve fainting.” He paused, then added, “Well, at least, not from hunger.”   
  
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Bucky commented, heading for the door.   
  
“Probably,” Steve replied. “But what a way to go, huh?”   



	4. Chapter 4

Steve insisted on Bucky eating; he’d been serious about the fainting-from-hunger part, he said, and refused to do more than kiss until the delivery arrived. Then they sat on the sofa together while Bucky ate. “Probably it might be a good idea to talk about what we’re into,” Bucky said after a moment of thought. “Just to establish a baseline of sexual compatibility. Like, if you’re into S&M, I got bad news for you.”   
  
Steve laughed. “No, not really. I mean, the silk scarf thing, I could try that maybe, but anything more… I dunno, hardcore? … than that, I don’t think I could. Like actual tying down and whips and things.”   
  
Bucky nodded. “I’m pretty vanilla,” he admitted. “Oh. I’m clean, though. But I’ll go around the corner and get tested anyway.”   
  
Steve nodded. “I should definitely get tested. It’s been awhile, but you never know.”   
  
“Well, I mean. Sometimes you know,” Bucky said, grinning.   
  
Steve laughed. “That’s true. Let’s say that I don’t know, and leave it at that.”   
  
Bucky nodded. “So we’ve established that we’re perfectly happy starting out with the basics, condoms are a definite until further notice, and it’s possible that we might do some light exploration later, if we find ourselves in the mood. Yeah?”   
  
“Sounds about right.” Steve ran a hand through his hair. “I, uh. Don’t think I’ve ever had this frank of a conversation about sex before.”   
  
Bucky nods. “I generally like to, if I have the chance and we don’t just, you know, fall into bed. Which we might have done if you hadn’t been so insistent on me not passing out. I mean, come on, everybody wants a partner that just lays there, yeah?”   
  
“No.” Steve’s face was very serious. “Honestly, I think enthusiastic consent is one of the sexiest things there is.”   
  
Bucky’s hand stilled halfway to his mouth, and he peered at Steve. “You actually mean that. My god, are you a unicorn?”   
  
Steve laughed. “Nah. Just, you know, I like it when everybody’s on the same page about stuff. I do a lot of checking in during… uh, during the act.” His face went hot, and he inwardly rolled his eyes at himself. “Which I guess makes this a really good conversation for us to have.”   
  
“Yeah.” Bucky finished off his shawarma and stood to carry all the trash into the kitchen. When he came back, he said, “I think I should brush my teeth.” Then he grinned at Steve. “I got a spare toothbrush if you want to do the same.”   
  
“That sounded like a very heavy-handed suggestion,” Steve replied, chuckling as he climbed off the couch. “But I suppose dental hygiene is very important.”   
  
“Absolutely,” Bucky replied. “You don’t want to catch, like, gingivitis or something.”   
  
Steve followed Bucky deeper into the apartment. “I’m pretty sure you can’t catch gingivitis.”   
  
“Hey, you never know,” Bucky replied. “Better safe than sorry.”   
  
It was almost domestic, Steve thought, standing next to Bucky at the two-sink vanity and brushing his teeth. He caught Bucky’s eye in the mirror and gave him a foamy grin; Bucky started to laugh and nearly choked on his toothbrush. Once they were done, Bucky reached out and took Steve’s hand, tugging him close. He leaned down and kissed Steve gently. “Mmm,” he said when they broke apart. “Minty fresh.”   
  
Steve laughed. “You’re a dork,” he teased.    
  
“Guilty,” Bucky confessed, grinning.   
  
“Come on, dork,” Steve said, guiding Bucky out of the bathroom and into the tidy bedroom. “Let’s see how well we manage our sexual compatibility.”   
  
Bucky laughed softly, then turned Steve in his arms and leaned down, kissing him again. His hands slid down to Steve’s waist and under the hem of his t-shirt, then back up Steve’s slender torso to his ribcage. Steve obligingly broke the kiss, letting Bucky slide the shirt up and off, then returned the favor, letting his hands run back down Bucky’s chest, his fingers testing the texture of the light hair he found there. “You work out,” he commented, his fingertips sliding down to tease at Bucky’s abs.   
  
Bucky twitched, squeaking a little bit. “Tickles,” he said, resting his hands on Steve’s and guiding him to a firmer touch. “And yeah; I’ve got a weight machine and stuff upstairs.” He reached out to touch Steve’s smaller chest, his fingers sliding down and around Steve’s ribcage. “You’re a cardio guy, aren’t you?” he asked. “Lot of running.”   
  
“I wouldn’t say a lot,” Steve disagreed, “but I do get out and run with Natasha every couple of days.”   
  
Bucky nodded, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the side of Steve’s neck. Steve shivered, then shivered again when Bucky’s voice wafted across his skin. “Body like a sprinter,” he murmured. “Long legs, strong arms.” His hands slid down Steve’s biceps to illustrate. “I bet you could crack walnuts with your thighs.”   
  
Steve laughed softly. “I wouldn’t go that far.”   
  
“Prove it,” Bucky said, kissing him again, on his collarbone this time. “Show me.”   
  
“Bring me a walnut,” Steve replied, and both men paused before cracking up with laughter.    
  
“You’re an idiot,” Bucky observed when he was able to stop laughing. “Come here, you.” He tugged Steve in close, cupping Steve’s jaw with his hands, and he leaned down to kiss him, slow and wet. Steve’s hands busied themselves at Bucky’s waist, unfastening his pants and pushing them down. Bucky pulled back, breathing hard, and kicked his shoes off, shoving them out of the way when he bent over to pull off his socks as well. Steve echoed Bucky’s movements, and in just a moment they stood there, Steve in his boxer briefs and Bucky in boxers, staring at one another.   
  
It was impossible to say who moved first, but they crashed together with fire and fury, teeth clacking together as they kissed each other hot and hard, touching each other everywhere, hands working to divest themselves of their underwear before Bucky guided Steve backward to the bed. “I wanna fuck you,” he murmured into Steve’s mouth. “God, you’re so fucking pretty, I wanna fuck you right into the mattress.”   
  
“Yes,” Steve breathed. “God, yes.” The backs of his knees hit the mattress and he went down, Bucky following him, pushing his thighs apart and leaning in to stroke Steve’s cock with his tongue. Steve’s back arched. “Yes,” he hissed, and Bucky laughed.    
  
“We’ll save that for after the testing,” Bucky said, then reached over and flipped his nightstand open, pulling out a small pump bottle of lube. He squirted some into his hand, reached up, and gripped Steve’s cock. “How’s this?”   
  
“Good, so good,” Steve gasped, his back arching again. “God, you feel good.”   
  
“And just think, we’ve barely gotten started.” Bucky continued to stroke Steve until he was fully hard, then reached down and gave himself a few strokes as well, just to be sure. Then he lubed up his hand again, reaching between Steve’s legs to rub slick onto his hole. “Ready?” he asked softly.   
  
“So fucking ready,” Steve groaned, and then he whined wordlessly as Bucky’s first finger slid inside him. “Oh, fuck yes.”   
  
“That’s right,” Bucky said, laughing softly. He rested his other hand on Steve’s stomach, stroking the soft skin there. “Just a second and I’ll give you another one.”   
  
“Yes, please,” Steve managed, and then he gasped as Bucky obliged. “Oh yes,” he breathed. “Yes.”   
  
Bucky leaned down to kiss Steve again, his fingers searching until Steve cried out when they brushed across his prostate. “There you go,” Bucky murmured, trailing kisses across Steve’s jaw and down his neck. “There you go, just relax and let me make you feel good.”   
  
Steve’s hands, which had been clenched in the bedcovers, came up to cup the back of Bucky’s head, his fingers threading through Bucky’s hair. “Yes, yes,” he managed, his voice a thready whisper. “Please, yes.”   
  
Carefully, slowly, Bucky introduced a third finger, and Steve whined again, his hips bucking upward against Bucky’s stomach. “Please,” he begged. “Please. Want you inside me.”   
  
“I got you,” Bucky murmured. “I got you.” He stroked Steve’s prostate another time, drawing a shout from him, and then drew his hand back, wiping it on the coverlet before dipping into the bedside drawer and pulling out a condom. He straightened, ripping the package open carefully before rolling it on, and then slicked himself up thoroughly with lube. “Okay, baby,” he murmured, pressing his cock against Steve’s hole. “You ready for me?”   
  
Steve’s hands clutched at Bucky’s shoulders. “Yes,” he moaned, and Bucky pushed in slowly, carefully.   
  
Steve arched and shuddered at the slow, inexorable breach of his body. “Fuck, yes, god, please,” he babbled. “So good, Bucky, so good.”   
  
“Yeah,” Bucky murmured, leaning forward and resting his elbows on either side of Steve’s head. “So fucking good, baby, you feel so good, wrapped all around me.”   
  
“Bucky,” Steve whined, wrapping his legs around Bucky’s waist. “Please. Please.”   
  
“I got you,” Bucky replied softly. And then, kissing Steve gently, he started to thrust, rolling his hips, finding a rhythm and a force that he liked and settling into it. His toes curled into the carpet, bracing him, and he fucked Steve slow and deep, letting Steve’s moans and cries lead him to the ways Steve wanted to be fucked.    
  
Steve’s cock was trapped between their bodies, the scratch of Bucky’s pubic hair adding extra friction every time he moved, and Steve was both astonished and embarrassed to find himself close to coming sooner than he thought he ever had before. He arched against Bucky, desperate, chasing completion even as he struggled against it, attempting to work the seven times table in his head even as Bucky’s teeth left stinging marks along his collarbones.   
  
It was no good; Bucky rolled his hips just a certain way and the head of his cock rubbed against Steve’s prostate again and Steve was gone, his legs tightening around Bucky’s waist and his hands gripping at Bucky’s shoulders and his voice crying out in wordless pleasure.    
  
Bucky fucked him through his orgasm and then grinned smugly down into Steve’s dazzled face. “That good, huh?” he teased gently. Then he leaned down and kissed Steve again.   
  
“Bucky,” Steve murmured dreamily. “Come. Want to see you come.”   
  
“Gonna,” Bucky admitted, his pace increasing and his babbling, too, as he got closer and closer. “So fucking gorgeous when you come, baby, you don’t even know. Feel so good around me. So fucking hot and tight, perfect, so fucking perfect, fuck, fuck!” With a final shove deep into Steve, Bucky threw his head back and came, clamping his teeth down on the scream that wanted to escape.    
  
He sagged over Steve, his forehead coming to rest against the side of Steve’s neck. After a long moment of hard breathing he panted, “I think it’s safe to say we’re sexually compatible.”   
  
There was a long silence before Steve cracked up, gasping even as he did at the aftershocks that rolled through him when Bucky, also laughing, shifted inside him. “Oh fuck,” he moaned.   
  
“Definitely,” Bucky agreed. “Again and again. But not right this minute. The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.”   
  
Steve snorted, shivering as Bucky pulled back and dealt with the condom. Bucky ducked into the bathroom, washing his hands quickly before coming back to the bed. He helped Steve up, then grabbed the coverlet and tossed it off the end of the bed. “Yeah, that’s gotta be washed,” he laughed. He pulled the sheet back then and waited for Steve to climb in and slide over before turning the light off. He slipped between the sheets beside Steve, pulling the sheet up and rolling onto his side to curl up, spooning against Steve’s back. “Good for you?” he asked gently, pressing a kiss to the back of Steve’s neck.   
  
“So good,” Steve murmured. “”Thank you.”   
  
Bucky laughed softly. “Thank you,” he replied. Then he ran a hand down Steve’s side. “Get some sleep,” he said. “I wanna see you in my sweatpants while I’m making you breakfast in the morning.”   
  
Chuckling softly, Steve closed his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

True to his word, Steve stumbled out of Bucky’s bedroom the next morning wearing his sweatpants (cinched tightly, and rolled up at the ankles), to find Bucky pulling a breakfast casserole out of the oven. He grinned sleepily. “Morning.”   
  
“Yes, yes it is,” Bucky agreed, crossing the kitchen to drop a kiss on Steve’s lips. “Sleep well?”   
  
“Except for the part where somebody woke me up like twice to have their wicked way with me.”   
  
“I don’t remember you complaining.” Bucky kissed Steve again, then went back to the stove to start dishing up food. “Siddown. You want coffee or orange juice?”   
  
“Juice,” Steve replied. “Coffee is an afternoon drink.”   
  
“Coffee is an anytime drink.” Bucky brought the juice container and a couple of empty glasses to the table, and Steve poured for both of them while Bucky went back to the stove and retrieved the plates of food. “Here you go. Mama Barnes’s I-hope-you’re-not-a-vegetarian breakfast casserole.”    
  
“You know I’m not a vegetarian,” Steve replied, reaching for his fork.   
  
“No, I mean that’s exactly what she calls it. Because the only non-meat thing in it is the cheese and the chives.”   
  
“You know, vegans say cheese is exploitative of cows,” Steve said primly, loading up his fork. “Because the cows can’t give consent to having their milk taken.”   
  
Bucky sighed, rolling his eyes. “Why are vegans like this?”   
  
“I know, right?” Steve shoved his fork into his mouth and moaned softly. “This is delicious. What’s in it?”   
  
“Eggs, sausage, bacon, cheese, chives, splash of milk, that kind of thing,” Bucky replied. “You can put ham in it or canadian bacon or whatever but I didn’t have either one so I just went with the basics.” He took a bite himself. “So. Plans for today?”   
  
“Pounding the pavement,” Steve replied. “There’s a couple of little galleries over in Alphabet City that I want to try, plus I need to sit down and do my application for the Stark Grant.”   
  
“Stark Grant?”    
  
“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. The Stark Arts Foundation is having a competition for grants; they basically pay you for a year to do whatever and make art, and part of that is doing a commission that will go in one of the public areas of Stark Tower.”   
  
Bucky boggled at him. “Seriously? That would be fantastic.”   
  
“You’re telling me,” Steve agreed. “So I need to do the application paperwork and also decide what piece of art I want to include with it, or if I want to make something new. I’m actually considering doing something with that sketch I did of Farley the other night. Most people will do landscapes or cityscapes, I think, so I want to do something that will stand out.”   
  
“That sounds like a good idea,” Bucky replied. “I’ve been in Stark Tower exactly once and it seems like I remember everything being either a landscape or an abstract. They need something different.”   
  
“Exactly,” Steve said, pointing his fork at Bucky. “Most landscapes are boring. So are most modern abstracts. They look mass-produced. Hell, they might  _ be _ mass-produced. I want to be different.”   
  
“You already are different,” Bucky said, “but I get what you mean.”   
  
Steve nodded. “Cityscapes are better than landscapes, in my opinion. Cities have much more personality than plain old swathes of countryside. You think about it. Every landscape you’ve ever seen is either flowers or rolling hills, maybe with a barn in the middle or something. Pure middle-American flyover country. Which is fine; flyover country is actually really beautiful. But it’s sort of static. Just over and over again the same thing. Cities are different. They live and breathe and change. The same corner is different every time you look at it.”   
  
Bucky hummed. “There’s something to be said for the static nature of, well, nature.”   
  
“That’s true. And I’m not knocking it. The rural life is wonderful; I spent a summer on my uncle’s farm in Ohio one year in high school. It’s beautiful. Very peaceful and quiet. But it’s not for me.”   
  
“Me, either.” Bucky shook his head, laughing softly. “I went to summer camp in the Catskills once. The quiet at night freaked me out and I had to go home after the first week.”   
  
Steve stared at Bucky for a moment. “Bucky Barnes,” he said. “Were you a Boy Scout?”   
  
“I can neither confirm nor deny,” Bucky laughed. “If my mother tries to show you a sash covered in badges, it’s a filthy lie.” He shook his head. “Yeah, no, I was definitely a Boy Scout. Loved it. Except the camping part. I’m really not a big fan of camping.”   
  
“Did you get your – what’s it called – Eagle Scout?”   
  
Bucky straightened proudly. “As a matter of fact, yes, I did.”   
  
“That’s good, though,” Steve said. “I have my problems with the organization in general, but individual Scouts and troops often do very good work on a local level.”   
  
Bucky nodded. “I’m the same way. I’m actually really proud of what I accomplished, but I definitely have issues with the way the organization operates at the highest levels.” He sighed. “Still, it was a really good experience and I think it really affected who I am as a person.”   
  
Steve twitched an eyebrow. “Turned you gay, hmm?”   
  
Bucky grinned. “I’m actually bisexual, but I did get my first crush on a boy that year at summer camp. One of the junior counselors; he was hot like fire.”   
  
Some time later, after a joint shower that in no way saved water, Steve re-dressed and collected his things to head home and change. He kissed Bucky warmly before leaving by the fire escape stairs, and Bucky headed down to open the coffee shop. If he spent the whole day with a smile on his face, that was nobody’s business but his own.   
  
Steve headed home with a spring in his step, the phrase stride of pride rolling through his head more than once, but he was brought up short by the sight of his mother in the living room of their apartment, holding a cup of coffee and smirking at him. “So,” she said, “I was off shift last night.”   
  
“Oh,” Steve said, blushing furiously. “I, uh. I thought you were working a twelve.”   
  
“No, that was yesterday,” Sarah replied. “So imagine my surprise when my beloved only child stayed out all night long.”   
  
Steve gave a small laugh. “Sorry,” he said. “If I’d known you were home, I’d have called and told you not to wait up.”   
  
“Oh, I didn’t wait up,” she said, laughing. “You’re twenty-six years old; you can do whatever you want, as far as I’m concerned.” She came across the room to hug him. “Bucky, I assume?”   
  
“Yeah,” Steve admitted, hugging her tightly. “He’s really great, Mom. I can’t wait for you to meet him.”   
  
“I also look forward to the event,” she assured him. “I haven’t had a chance to menace anyone you dated since Jeffrey in high school.”   
  
Steve rolled his eyes. “Ugh, Jeffrey.”   
  
“Yes, I felt the same way.” Sarah’s voice was dry as dust when she said it. Then she shook her head. “Go put on clean clothes. We’re going to brunch before you do whatever it is you were planning on doing today, and you’re going to start at the beginning and tell me all about him.” Off Steve’s expression, she raised a hand. “I don’t mean the details of last night, for God’s sake. Just, you know, about him.”   
  
“You haven’t heard enough about him already?” Steve teased, heading for his room.   
  
“Only in bits and snatches,” Sarah replied. “Not in detail. Now is detail time.”   
  
Steve waved her off with a laugh, disappearing into his room to change clothes, and Sarah chuckled, heading into the kitchen to turn off the coffee machine and wash her cup. This was going to be highly entertaining.   
  
They went to their favorite brunch spot and Steve, as promised, gave his mother all the details, from their first meeting to the parent-safe parts of the previous night. “He’s really great, Mom,” he finished. “I think you’re really going to like him.”   
  
“We’ll see,” his mother replied, smiling. “He’ll have to be pretty special to be good enough for my only child.”   
  
“Aw, Mom.” Steve’s face went hot. “Don’t be like that.”   
  
Sarah laughed gently. “Sweetheart, I will always be like that. You’re my only child, and I had to work really hard to keep you. If I’m a little overprotective, you’ll understand why, and you’ll put up with it.”   
  
Steve had to admit that his mother had a point; he’d fought cancer for several years as a child, and he’d come close to death more than once. His mother really had struggled to keep him alive, even with the help of the best mundane and magical doctors available.    
  
Fortunately for both of them, the hospital where she worked had not only offered excellent health benefits, but also boasted one of the best cancer centers in the northeast. Steve had finally been declared cancer-free at sixteen, and he had been able to see the weight lift off his mother’s shoulders with every year he remained cancer-free thereafter.    
  
“Yeah,” Steve said softly, remembering the many nights she’d spent beside his hospital bed, humming or singing or reading quietly to him, and he reached across the table impulsively, taking her hand and giving it a warm squeeze. “Mom,” he said, “thank you. For everything. I know it was hard, but you were so strong for me through everything.”   
  
“Oh, Steve,” Sarah sighed, squeezing his hand back. “You were worth it.” Then she picked up her napkin and dabbed at her eyes. “Stop making me cry in public,” she teased him. “Tell me about your art; have you found any more galleries to take your work yet?”   
  
He told her then about his plans for the day and for the rest of the week, about the little galleries in Alphabet City and SoHo and the little hipster gathering-places around Brooklyn, and then he encouraged her to tell him about her work, about the other nurses and the doctors and her patients in the pediatric ward. When they finished brunch he snagged the check before she could, dropping a kiss on her cheek at her disgruntled expression.   
  
They parted on the sidewalk, Steve slinging his map case back onto his shoulder and kissing his mother again before he jumped on the A train into Manhattan.   
  
When he came home that night he was flush with success; the Alphabet City gallery was excited to have two of his watercolors and one of the ones in SoHo wanted a sculpture he’d shown them a picture of. Sarah was gone already, working a twelve, so he grabbed his phone and texted Bucky.  _ Plans tonight? _   
  
_ Nah, _ Bucky texted back.  _ Wanna come over? My parents are out. ;) _   
  
Steve had to laugh.  _ Yeah, I’ll bring dinner. Preferences? _ __  
  
After a moment, Bucky replied,  _ Italian. Surprise me. Something good. _   
  
_ Everything I bring you is good, _ Steve replied, then turned his phone off and stuck it in his pocket. He went into his bedroom to pack a spare set of clothes into his backpack just in case. He tucked his laptop, sketchbook, and pencil roll in with his clothes and slung the bag up onto his shoulder, left a note for his mom, and headed out into the dusk.   
  
When he arrived at the shop, food in hand, Bucky and a young employee were slammed, so Bucky just waved Steve toward the back. “Go on up,” he said between lattes. “I’ll be up as soon as this clears.”   
  
“Sure, no rush,” Steve replied. “I need to work on my grant application anyway.”   
  
“WiFi password’s on a sticky note on the fridge door,” Bucky told him before calling out “Double iced mocha with a shot of chill-pill!”   
  
Steve slipped behind the counter, dodging Bucky and his employee, then headed up the back stairs into Bucky’s apartment, where he put the food in the oven to stay warm, then found the WiFi password before settling in to work at the kitchen table.   



	6. Chapter 6

“So,” Steve said as Bucky entered the apartment sometime later, “I saw a post on Tumblr that basically argued that Merry and Pippin were high off their asses the whole time they were traveling with the Fellowship.”   
  
“That would definitely explain some of the dumb shit Pippin did,” Bucky agreed, flopping onto the couch. “Fool of a Took!”   
  
“We all just assumed pipe-weed was tobacco,” Steve commented, shutting his laptop and coming to join Bucky in the living room. “But if it was really good weed, that would make so much sense.” He leaned over and kissed Bucky warmly. “Go take a shower and I’ll rub your feet.”   
  
“Possibly the only words that could get me off this couch right now,” Bucky sighed. “Be right back.”   
  
“Take your time,” Steve called after him. “Food’s keeping warm.”   
  
Bucky was back in just a few minutes, still damp in sweatpants and a t-shirt and smelling of pine, and he flopped down onto the couch again, shoving his feet into Steve’s lap. “Best boyfriend,” he murmured as Steve started rubbing them. “Best boyfriend ever.”   
  
“I’m the best  _ you’ll  _ ever have,” Steve teased, pressing his thumbs into the ball of Bucky’s foot. Bucky’s leg jerked a little and they both laughed.   
  
“So how was your day?” Bucky asked. “Get a lot done?”   
  
“Eh.” Steve waggled his hand in a sort-of gesture. “Had to have brunch with my mom since she caught me doing my stride of pride.”   
  
“Ah, jeez,” Bucky laughed and groaned at the same time. “That’s embarrassing.”   
  
“A little bit,” Steve admitted. “But it could have been worse. Still, she made me go to brunch and tell her absolutely everything about you. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if she showed up here to scope you out herself one of these days.”   
  
“I’ll do my best not to embarrass you,” Bucky promised.   
  
Steve pinched Bucky’s toe. “As if you could. Plus, I wouldn’t be with you if you would.”   
  
Bucky gave him a soft smile. “No, you wouldn’t, would you?”   
  
“Exactly.” Steve finished with Bucky’s feet and then patted them. “Hungry?”   
  
“Starving,” Bucky agreed. “What did you bring?”   
  
“Lasagna and ravioli to share,” Steve told him, pushing Bucky’s feet out of his lap. “Come help me get it all on the table.”   
  
While Steve washed his hands, Bucky busied himself getting the containers out of the oven. Steve got a pitcher of tea out of the fridge while Bucky got plates and utensils, and a moment later they were seated, serving themselves and digging in. Bucky asked about the galleries Steve had been to, and Steve recounted several failures before getting to his successes.    
  
“That’s awesome,” Bucky said when Steve mentioned the sculpture that the gallery in SoHo wanted. “Is it colorful like mine?”   
  
Steve nodded. “Yeah, it’s an iridescent blue, like bismuth, where yours is green.”   
  
“Are all your colors multi-shiny like that?” Bucky wanted to know.   
  
“Most of them,” Steve replied. “I can do flat or just a single shiny, sort of almost glittery color, but I like the iridescents and the opalescents best. I have the color palette of a twelve-year-old girl and I am not in the least embarrassed about it.”   
  
“Psh.” Bucky waved off the suggestion. “Did you not see how excited I got about that dragon sculpture? Shiny is my favorite color.”   
  
Steve laughed, serving himself a little more ravioli. “Tell me about your day. Any soccer moms need the manager?”   
  
“I have the actual most amazing story you will ever hear.” Bucky straightened, finishing his last bite of lasagna and putting his fork down. “I’m in the supply room getting paper cups, right, and I hear the yelling start. I come out like avenging fury because you know me, nobody yells at my employees, and I find Peter – quiet Peter who takes all the shit ever with that amazing customer service smile – all but screaming at this woman who is – wait for it – behind the counter messing with the till.”   
  
Steve’s mouth dropped open. “No.”   
  
“Yes,” Bucky exclaimed. “Yes! I nearly lost my mind. I’m like excuse me, can I help you find your way out, and her excuse was that she didn’t like the drink she ordered because it was sour and it must be the add-on and Peter wouldn’t give her money back.”   
  
“What did you do?”    
  
Bucky chuckled. “Lost my shit and screamed at her to get out from behind my counter right the fuck now before I called the police and had her arrested for attempted robbery.” He ginned. “Scared her so bad she actually got out from behind the counter before she wanted to see the manager.”   
  
“Oh, well done,” Steve said. “And then you, of course, said that you are the manager.”   
  
“Ha, no, I broke out the I am the owner,” Bucky replied. “I quote myself: I am the owner of this shop and if you’re not out that door in twenty seconds I swear to the Little Gods that I am going to put my hands on you and put you out that door.”   
  
“I assume she hauled ass,” Steve said, making a gesture to ask if Bucky wanted any more food.   
  
Bucky shook his head, standing up to help clean up the table. “She actually looked like she wanted to argue for a minute, but then she thought better of it and made tracks.” He paused. “I’m pretty sure she’s gonna leave a nasty review on Yelp.”   
  
Steve cackled. “I have a friend who’s half pixie,” he said. “We can track her down if you want, prank the shit out of her.”   
  
“I wouldn’t sic a pixie on my worst enemy,” Bucky replied. “Those people are vicious.”   
  
“That is a statement that is true,” Steve agreed. “Which is why I make sure I am unfailingly polite and friendly to every pixie I meet.”   
  
“You’ll have to tell me how you made friends with one,” Bucky replied, watching Steve go for the fridge. “Whatcha got there?”   
  
“You ready for dessert?” Steve asked.   
  
“Not really, but I wanna see what you got there anyway.”   
  
Laughing, Steve opened the fridge and pulled out a box, opening it to show Bucky two huge squares of tiramisu. “Ohh,” Bucky breathed. “My favorite.” He dropped a kiss on the side of Steve’s neck. “I’ll go down and make us a cappuccino when we get ready to eat it.”   
  
“Wanna go watch the sunset in the garden?”   
  
“Absolutely.” Steve followed Bucky up the stairs and across the roof; they settled onto a bench that Steve was pretty sure might actually be over the empty space in the middle of the block and watched the sunset, talking quietly about everyday things.    
  
Once the sky was dark – or, well, as dark as it ever got in the city – Bucky leaned over and kissed Steve warmly. “How about dessert?” he said.   
  
“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Steve said. “You want to go make us some coffee?”   
  
“Not the dessert I had in mind,” Bucky replied. He shifted on the bench, turning a little, and tugged Steve into his lap, leaning in to kiss him again. “I was thinking more along the lines of this, you and me, right here, and how maybe if I play my cards right I can get my hand under your skirt.”   
  
Steve laughed as Bucky’s clever fingers plucked at the button of his jeans. “I’m not wearing a skirt,” he pointed out, “but the sentiment is welcome all the same.”   
  
Chuckling, Bucky pulled Steve’s fly open and then reached around with both hands, pushing his pants and underwear down enough to draw his cock out. Steve was half-hard already and Bucky grinned, licking his palm and gripping Steve, stroking him firmly until he was gasping, his back arching and his hips rocking into Bucky’s grip.    
  
“That’s it,” Bucky murmured, bracing Steve by gripping the back of his neck. “That’s it, let me see. It’s good, yeah?”   
  
“Yeah,” Steve moaned, thrusting forward again. Bucky’s hand was by now slick with Steve’s precome, and his grip had gotten tighter. “Fuck, fuck, Bucky, so good.”   
  
“Gonna come for me?” Bucky murmured, twisting his wrist just a little bit.   
  
Steve whined. “Please. Please.”   
  
“Whenever you’re ready,” Bucky said, chuckling. Then he gripped harder, stroking Steve faster, a little twist at the end of each pull. With a wordless cry, Steve arched even further and came, spurting on Bucky’s t-shirt.   
  
Laughing under his breath, Bucky reeled Steve in to kiss him, slow and gentle. “Good, eh?”   
  
Steve’s returning laugh was a bare breath that ghosted across Bucky’s skin. “Good,” he agreed. Then his hand started to slide down Bucky’s front. “You?”   
  
Bucky shook his head. “I’m all right,” he said, kissing Steve again. “I just wanted to make you feel good.” He waited until he was sure Steve would be all right to stand, then nudged him to his feet. “C’mon; you need a shower and I need a clean shirt.”   
  
A little while later, clean and dry, they settled together on the sofa. Bucky kicked his feet up onto the coffee table and wrapped his arm around Steve, who curled up against Bucky’s side, resting his head against Bucky’s chest. “This is good,” Steve murmured as Bucky turned on the television. “I like this.”   
  
“Me, too,” Bucky agreed, rubbing Steve’s back. “I like you.”   
  
“Oh, well, it’s a good thing,” Steve teased, grinning. “Otherwise I’d have to find someone else to snuggle.”   
  
Bucky’s arm tightened around Steve. “You better not.”   
  
Steve laughed softly. “Don’t worry,” he promised. “I won’t.”   



End file.
